Dear Rose Tyler
by Jecir
Summary: Dear Rose Tyler, Hi. My name is Nivarra. You don't know me, but I know you. I know all about you." Rose/10th Doctor, Character Death. One Shot


"Dear Rose Tyler…"

By: Jecir

To anyone, today was any normal day. The people of Cardiff went about their day to day business, never once wondering if today could be special. Perhaps, something different happened today. Maybe something new or interesting. Perhaps something tragic. Maybe today would be the day that humanity would launch itself into a new understanding of the universe. No one knew, and to be truthful, no one cared. Not today. Today was gloomy, like yesterday and most likely like tomorrow. So, the people bent their heads against the wind and went about their day.

Because of this, no one saw the young woman standing alone, starring out over the grey ocean. No one looked at her long enough to see that her dark hair—usually so well-kept even though it was shorter than her shoulders—was falling in disarray, lifeless and limp, as if it had not seen shampoo in days. None cared to note that her skin was paler than usual. And most certain of all was that none cared to see the trails of tears staining her cheeks. No, no one saw the red in her eyes, the quiver of her lips, or the white of her knuckles as she gripped the railing.

To Cardiff, this girl was no one.

But to this girl, Cardiff was everything. It was where she had met him—hobbling down the street seemingly out of nowhere, his mahogany walking stick clicking on the pavement, a bag of bananas in his hands. She had offered to help him. He waved her off.

And then the aliens attacked.

She shook her head. That had been the first day her world changed.

A fresh, hot tear burned her chapped skin as she finally released the abused railing to turn into the wind. Today was the second day her world changed. And by the end of today, she was certain, she would see it change a third time.

Cardiff, England, 2010. She was lucky to make it. It was her first and only time driving the Tardis. It felt so strange. She was not supposed to drive the old ship, _ever_. She bit her lip against a fresh wave of tears. She needed to keep it together. She had a job to do, and she would see it done.

She turned a corner and stopped. The Tardis stood at the far end of the street. She could feel the ship's sorrow. It did not want to live now that its heart was broken beyond repair. The girl did not blame her. She felt the emptiness in the world as well. Everything was wrong now. So very wrong.

Swallowing against the tears, she squared her shoulders. She had a mission.

The Tardis was so quiet when she entered. No whirring. No beeping. No clicking merrily. Nothing. It nearly killed her. Her fingers brushed across the consul lovingly, stopping at the sonic screwdriver. She trembled as she picked it up. He had left it there after finishing some repairs. "It is done," he had said with a foreboding finality.

She cradled the device and continued into the ship that had been her home for oh so very long. She wandered the corridors like a ghost, knowing where she was going yet hesitant to get there. She paused to glance through open doorways. Her room was a mess, as usual. All this time, she still never grasped the concept of tiding up. He had always teased her about that. A smile sparked her lips for the barest of moments.

The Wardrobe. The Infirmary. The Kitchen. So clean. So very much in order.

His room. She stopped at the threshold, unable to bear the thought of it being empty. Fresh tears threatened to fall. She fought hard to keep them in check. She needed to be strong.

Down the corridors she went, keeping her mind focused on the task at hand. A door appeared before her, cracked open, waiting.

A fire welcomed her. She sat in one of the plush armchairs. On the table next to her was a book; it was one she had read many times. It was something she had shared with him. It lay open upon a well-worn section; this had been their favorite, _his_ favorite, for he had read it many time before she had ever come. She trailed her fingers over the wrinkled yellow pages; the edges were smudged with fingerprints, and the writing was blurred in several places where his tears had fallen onto the pages.

Her own tears threatened to stain it as well. She turned away.

A desk appeared before her. She whispered her thanks to the Tardis. This was what she needed to do. It had been her destiny from the moment she walked into the strange blue box. Picking up a pen, she began to write.

_"Dear Rose Tyler…"_

_"Hi."_ She could think of no other way to start this._ "My name is Nivarra. That isn't my real name, but, hey, if the Doctor can use a fake name, so can I."_ She frowned. Now was not the time for humor. She scratched it out and started again. _"You don't know me, but I know you. I know all about you."_

_Yes,_ Nivarra thought as she continued to write, _I know all about you, Rose Tyler, Defender of the Universe_.

He had spoken of her often. He had told her many stories of his past Companions, but he spoke of her the most. He spoke of her when Nivarra had found him reading that book for the first time. He had been crying that night. His cries had lured Nivarra from her bed into the library. And there he had been, his book—a book containing all the stories of his past Companions—laid open on his lap, her face smiling up at him. That had been the first night she had met Rose Tyler.

"_They say communication is 10% vocal, 90% not. Well, the Doctor spoke of his Companions 10% of the time, and of you the other 90."_

He would speak of Rose when he stroked the Tardis consuls, whispering, "She would have loved that." He spoke of Rose Tyler when he stepped out onto a new planet, and his eyes would grow distant and sad. He spoke of Rose Tyler when he would pull out an old purple jacket when he thought no one was looking. And when he slept, Nivarra thought, no longer able to hold back her tears, he would whisper her name.

"_I first noticed something was wrong when he began sleeping more. Not a lot at first, just every few months. And then, he would sleep once every two weeks. Then once a week, and then, every day."_

He had lost his will to travel. He no longer asked her where she wanted to go. Somehow, as the days moved on, their roles reversed. She would get up early and wait for him to get up. If he did not, she would search him out. He would be in the library holding the book or in his room holding her jacket. Nivarra tried not to let the pain of seeing him like this get to her. She would plaster a smile onto her face and ask, "Where do you want to go today?" Sometimes he would answer; most times he asked her to choose.

_"I had seen this before. The last few weeks my parents were alive, they were like this. Slowly loosing touch with reality, spending their time in the past. He spent his time in his 9__th__ life. I know this because one day, he woke up and asked how he had gotten so old and where his big ears had gone_."

Before her very eyes, the great Time Lord, the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm faded away. She had not thought she would be the one with him when it happened. He had had so many grand adventures, had lived so many lives, she had assumed he was immortal.

And then, that night, he put the sonic screwdriver on the consul and said, "It is done." He took his walking stick, straightened his jacket, and turned to her with a wrinkled smile and said, "Good bye, Nivarra."

His farewell had caught her off guard. "Good night," she had whispered back, thinking he had made the mistake out of simply being senile.

But the truth of the moment came to her the next morning.

Tears dripped onto the letter as she wrote, _"I found him the next morning curled up in his bed with your jacket in his hands. Not moving. Not breathing."_

She dropped the pen. Her hands flew to her face to stifle the sobs. It was still so fresh. She screamed out her pain into the empty ship.

In a daze, she had taken the Tardis to the one place she felt was appropriate: Canary Waff. The beach had been cold and gray; the waves had angrily crashed against the sand; the wind howled its moan to the world. The Tardis cremated his body for her. And together, they spread the ashes over the last place he had been together with his Rose.

"It's not fair," she sobbed. "It's not fair. It's. Not. Fair!"

Retrieving the pen, she quickly finished her letter, folded it, and left it in the book. Then, she left the library, certain not to return.

Fuelled by the pain of her loss, Nivarra ran into the control room, the screwdriver clutched in her hands. She knew what she had to do. She knew where it was she needed to be. She knew everything.

Kneeling down before the consul, she tapped the screwdriver against the metal. The Tardis came alive. Nivarra could feel the ship slowly fading. "Come on, old girl," she whispered. "Stay with me. Let's do this. One more time. Please."

The Tardis answered.

The consul opened. Nivarra stepped back. The Tardis key burned against her skin. She clutched it, remembering the day the Doctor had given it to her. She smiled as tears slipped down her face. She did not know what would happen next. She simply hoped.

Taking a deep breath, she looked into the heart of the Tardis.

The End


End file.
